


truce

by cosmicwoosan



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Anxiety, Crying, Depression, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Imaginary Friends, M/M, OR IS IT??, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21592552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicwoosan/pseuds/cosmicwoosan
Summary: Hongjoong never loved himself, but at least there was Seonghwa.Right?
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 10
Kudos: 215





	truce

**Author's Note:**

> i uh... don't really have an explanation for this. probably just self-projecting again. oops.
> 
> i was listening to 'truce' by twenty one pilots and this happened. please read tags for trigger warnings.

The doctors always told him, in through your nose for five, hold for five, out through your mouth for five. Each time Hongjoong counted to five, he felt like his life was ending. He hated breathing. He knew it was supposed to feel good, because _living_ was supposed to feel good, but not to Hongjoong.

There were plenty of times where he couldn't catch his breath. Times where he was up at three in the morning, his throat begging to be ripped out just so he could stop crying, stop _breathing,_ because he hated the way it felt. He wanted nothing more than to stop breathing. Breathing did not feel good. It hurt. Being alive hurt. Everything hurt.

Slicing into his own skin didn't hurt as much. Sometimes, it helped the _real_ hurting stop. It was gratifying to see. When his blood seeped out of him, in those few moments where breathing felt good, he imagined it being his life. He imagined his problems and sorrows escaping his body, like his blood carried them, out into the open. Until the blood dried, that is. The blood always dried. He didn't like that part. But by the time the blood dried, he was already satiated, his head in the clouds from the endorphins, and he simply wiped the stinging cuts and went to sleep.

Seonghwa hated it when Hongjoong cut himself.

When Seonghwa came over, it was often unannounced, since Seonghwa knew of Hongjoong's troubles and how sporadic his episodes were. Hongjoong was the one who gave him a key to his apartment. Perhaps Hongjoong really trusted him that much, and Hongjoong didn't trust that many people. No, Hongjoong was always guarded, shut away in his apartment with just a blade and his sadness to his name, but Seonghwa was someone different. Hongjoong trusted Seonghwa.

That being said, when Seonghwa appeared, it always seemed to be at the worst moments. When Hongjoong would cut deep enough that the bleeding didn't stop after the first few pearls of blood surfaced on his skin. When Hongjoong cried so hard that he cut even harder. When Hongjoong was trying to stop breathing. When the bleeding didn't stop.

Seonghwa was always there at the worst times. He made Hongjoong breathe. He cradled Hongjoong in his arms and bandaged his wounds. He held the crying boy close to his chest, ran his fingers through his hair and occasionally pressed soft kisses onto the crown of his head. He frowned at Hongjoong's cuts and told him not to do it again. Hongjoong never listened, but that never stopped Seonghwa from coming to his rescue.

Hongjoong would cut again. Seonghwa would appear again, even if it wasn't necessarily at the worst time. Sometimes, Hongjoong barely even made it to twenty cuts before Seonghwa showed up by his side. Sometimes, Seonghwa was there before Hongjoong could even draw blood. Sometimes, Seonghwa would wrap Hongjoong in a blanket cocoon and sit him down on his living room sofa and force him to watch movies with him. Neither of them said anything when they watched those movies, but there was nothing that needed to be said. Seonghwa was there with him.

Hongjoong wanted Seonghwa to stop coming at the worst times. Part of him wanted Seonghwa to give the key back. That way, there was no way Seonghwa could enter again, uninvited as he usually was, and Hongjoong could finally stop breathing.

But he never brought himself to. Every single time, whenever Hongjoong cut too deep, Seonghwa was there. He became a master of Hongjoong's skin. He knew what to do. Every. Single. Time.

Hongjoong rarely had good days. He was fine at school, though sometimes the cuts beneath the bandages and long sleeves ached to be revisited during the day. For some reason, he never felt comfortable doing it anywhere except his own home. He knew he could, but he never did.

He always waited until he got home to visit his friends.

He looked at them in admiration. They were so ugly, yet so beautiful. He wished he were beautiful. They were so beautiful, yet they only made him uglier. He was ugly. The disgusting lines on his arms and legs only made him uglier. He knew he should stop.

But he didn't. They were too beautiful to put away.

Seonghwa didn't call them beautiful, but he called Hongjoong beautiful a lot. Hongjoong never responded. He didn't say anything along the lines of, "No, I'm not," or "No, I'm ugly," which were the things he thought. But he couldn't bring himself to say those things around Seonghwa. He had a feeling Seonghwa already knew, anyway. There was no need to tell him.

Seonghwa probably knew how much Hongjoong hated himself.

Neither of them said anything.

Hongjoong wanted to stop breathing. Seonghwa wanted him to stop bleeding.

"Hongjoong-ah," Seonghwa said to him one night, "I wish I could make you forget."

"About what?" Hongjoong replied absentmindedly.

"Everything that makes you sad."

Hongjoong laughed pitifully. "Seonghwa, _I_ make me sad."

"Yeah. I know."

Seonghwa didn't say anything further, and neither did Hongjoong.

When Hongjoong thought about it, he and Seonghwa never really _talked._ They never had conversations about their days, never really got to _know_ each other. Seonghwa was just there, always had been. Hongjoong had known Seonghwa for a long time. The details of their friendship became irrelevant at one point.

Seonghwa was just _there._

And despite Hongjoong's undying wish to die and Seonghwa's overwhelming desire to stop it, Hongjoong didn't entirely mind Seonghwa's presence.

Every single time Seonghwa saved him, Hongjoong wasn't angry. He felt like he should be; if he wanted to die, if he wanted to stop breathing, shouldn't he be mad at Seonghwa for preventing him from finally resting? He was tired. He wanted to rest. Sleep. Forever. But Seonghwa wouldn't let him. He felt like he should be angry with Seonghwa.

But he could never be angry with Seonghwa.

He could never be angry with Seonghwa for destroying his wishes. For saving his life.

"Seonghwa," Hongjoong said to him one night, wrapped up in his blanket, "why do you keep saving me?"

"Because I care about you, Joong-ah," Seonghwa replied almost instantly.

"Why?"

"Must you ask why?"

Hongjoong didn't ask any further questions.

Seonghwa cared about him, or, he said he did, at least. Whether Hongjoong believed him or not, it didn't really matter. Hongjoong didn't have the mental or emotional capacity to wonder why anybody would ever care about him. He simply thought nobody should waste their time on him. Seonghwa wasted plenty of his time on him, but Hongjoong knew he couldn't stop him, so what was the point in arguing with that? There wasn't any.

There was no point in doing much of anything.

Hongjoong kept breathing. It was pointless.

He wondered often, if everything was pointless, was slashing his skin open with a blade pointless too? Why was he doing it?

He stared at his blade curiously, a tiny, distorted reflection of him staring back, and asked it, "Why?" Of course, being an inanimate object, it didn't respond. He sighed, frustrated, and took it to his skin. That was all it was good for, anyway. Not answering questions.

"Hongjoong-ah, why do you hate yourself?" Seonghwa asked him one night.

"There are a lot of reasons why," Hongjoong answered.

"Can you tell me one?"

"I'm ugly. Unintelligent. Worthless. A complete waste of space. A disappointment," Hongjoong said. He could go on.

"I don't see any of those as reasons," Seonghwa said indifferently. "Those aren't facts. Therefore, they can't be reasons."

"They're facts to me."

"They're not to me."

Neither of them said anything further. Hongjoong had plenty more "reasons," but he had a feeling Seonghwa would write every single one off as being everything _but_ a reason.

It made Hongjoong wonder, what was a fact? Something known to be true? Agreed upon?

In Hongjoong's mind, everything that made him hate himself was true. Every single negative thought he had about himself, everything was true. To him.

For some weird reason, none of them were true to Seonghwa. He wondered why.

He wondered what it would take for Seonghwa to open his eyes and realize that Hongjoong was a perfectly no-good waste of time and space. But then again, Seonghwa was always there to stop him from bleeding. He saw those wounds, the things that were so beautiful yet made him so ugly. He saw Hongjoong's ugliness. And he stayed.

Seonghwa stayed.

The bleeding stopped. Seonghwa stayed.

The breathing never stopped. Seonghwa stayed.

The news was always depressing. There were always pressing stories about the government, politics being tight, tensions being high, usually followed by a single lighthearted story to make sure the viewers weren't completely lost. Hongjoong watched the news without paying attention to the stories. But what he gathered from every single news story was that things could be so much worse.

He said it out loud one night. Seonghwa responded.

"And?"

"What do you mean, 'and?' Things could be so much worse. I could be homeless. I could be sick, have an incurable disease. I could be _actually_ dying. I should be grateful that I'm alive, but... why do I still want to die, Seonghwa?"

Seonghwa shrugged. "I don't know, Joong-ah. You're the only person who knows why you want to die."

Hongjoong frowned. Did he really know why he wanted to die? When he thought about it, Seonghwa was right. Seonghwa couldn't have a single clue as to why Hongjoong wanted to die, not when Seonghwa was the one who kept saving him. He wanted Hongjoong to live, clearly.

Hongjoong _was_ the only one who could know why he wanted to die.

It circled back to the reasons. Ugly. Useless. Worthless. A waste of time and space. Things that were facts to Hongjoong but not to Seonghwa. "Reasons." Were they, really? Were they really reasons why he wanted to die?

He felt guilty.

It was a cycle. He cut his skin. Watched himself bleed and breathe. Seonghwa stopped him from going any further. They spent the night together. Hongjoong would live through the day. He would cut again at night. Feel guilty. Feel the "reasons" course through his veins that carried his blood. Seonghwa would stop him again. And it continued.

"Joong-ah," Seonghwa said to him one night as he wrapped his arms, "why do you do this to yourself?"

"I thought you already knew that," Hongjoong muttered, refusing to meet Seonghwa's eyes.

"Because you hate yourself?"

"Yeah."

"But you never told me why you hate yourself."

"I did," Hongjoong defended, looking at his bandaged forearm in disgust. "I told you, I'm—"

"Worthless? Ugly?"

"Yeah."

"Joong-ah, you're the only one who thinks that," Seonghwa sighed, taking both of Hongjoong's arms in his gentle grasp. "Sure, there are shitty people out there who might think so too, but why do they matter? You have me, right? Do you care about me?"

Hongjoong finally looked up at Seonghwa, who was staring at him with intense eyes, waiting. "I... yeah. I do," he answered.

Seonghwa smiled the smallest of smiles, and it made Hongjoong's heart flutter in his chest. He liked seeing Seonghwa smile. "Then just focus on me, Joong-ah. Forget about the others. Forget about yourself for just a minute. Focus on me."

Hongjoong looked into Seonghwa's eyes for what felt like an eternity. He was mesmerized, unable to tear his eyes away. Seonghwa was beautiful. Seonghwa mattered. Seonghwa saved him. Made him breathe. He was not angry at Seonghwa. He could never be angry at Seonghwa.

"You're not ugly, Joong-ah," Seonghwa said to him, tucking a strand of stray hair behind his ear. "Whatever you think of me, I want you to think of yourself."

Seonghwa was beautiful. Seonghwa was kind. Seonghwa was everything Hongjoong wished he was. Hongjoong knew he could never truly think of himself as someone like Seonghwa, but he knew Seonghwa wanted him to.

"I want you to love yourself like I love you," Seonghwa said, his voice hushed.

"You... love me?" Hongjoong asked, heart beating, pumping blood to his organs at an accelerated rate. He was alive.

"Of course I do," Seonghwa said, his mouth expanding into a smile, warm and welcoming as he cupped Hongjoong's jaw. "I thought it was obvious."

Of course. Seonghwa saved him constantly. Seonghwa wanted him to live. Seonghwa carried him to his room after he cut himself, wrapped him in a blanket, and stayed with him. Seonghwa took better care of him than anyone else. Seonghwa was there for him. Every. Single. Time.

Hongjoong felt a tear slip past his eye, which Seonghwa was quick to catch with his thumb. He squeezed his eyes shut, his bottom lip quivering. "I don't deserve you, Seonghwa."

"I knew you'd say something like that," Seonghwa said. He tilted Hongjoong's head up. "Joong-ah, look at me."

Hongjoong forced his watering eyes open to see Seonghwa, this ethereal being, an actual heaven-sent angel, looking at him like he was a masterpiece. "It doesn't matter whether you think you deserve me or not. You have me," Seonghwa said.

Hongjoong cried, but it felt different. This wasn't the kind of crying Hongjoong did at three in the morning where he was begging the world to take his life away. This wasn't the panicked crying where Hongjoong felt like everything around him was crumbling, like there really wasn't anything left. This wasn't the desperate crying Hongjoong did when he wanted nothing more than for his body to be completely devoid of blood and oxygen.

These were unfamiliar tears. Seonghwa caught every single one. He was there.

"Joong-ah," Seonghwa said, voice light and airy, like Hongjoong imagined an angel's would sound like. "The world is shitty. A lot of things are shitty. As much as I don't want you to be sad anymore, I know that there isn't much I can do. But I'm here for you. I love you. Okay?"

Hongjoong sniffled and Seonghwa wiped another tear from his cheek. "Okay."

Hongjoong was trying. He really was.

His skin itched a lot as the scars healed over. The dried blood was really irritating. When he scratched them, it hurt, but in a much different way. It wasn't agonizing. It was relieving. The deeper cuts took a much longer time to fade. But they did.

There came to be nights where Hongjoong didn't cut himself at all.

It was strange. Seonghwa didn't appear. Seonghwa wasn't there during the worst times because there _were_ no worst times. It made Hongjoong apprehensive. Where did he go? Did he suddenly decide that he didn't love Hongjoong anymore?

Hongjoong cried himself to sleep. His arms were clear of any fresh wounds. When he dreamed, he swore he felt a pair of arms around him.

He cried a lot more, he noticed. He cried, wailed and wept for Seonghwa. He missed him. Seonghwa said he loved him. Where did he go, then? Why wasn't he showing up to his door? Why wasn't he there?

It hurt. It hurt a lot. It hurt more than the cuts ever did. Even the deepest ones. Hongjoong looked at them. He remembered how much they hurt. He remembered Seonghwa washing them, disinfecting them, pressing gauze over them until the bleeding stopped.

Hongjoong never really did cut deep enough.

"Seonghwa," Hongjoong cried to himself as he sat in his bathtub, naked and cold, his arms screaming. "Seonghwa, please, I need you. Where are you?"

Slit.

Slash.

"Seonghwa!"

The tears did not stop. Hongjoong wasn't sure how loud he was being. Everything was hurting. His vision was starting to blur. He couldn't tell if it was from the tears or not. "Seonghwa, where are you? Please, I _need_ you!"

No matter how many times Hongjoong created a gaping wound on his arm, Seonghwa did not appear.

The tears did not stop, and neither did the bleeding.

Hongjoong couldn't tell how hard he was crying. He couldn't tell how much he was bleeding. Everything was red. It hurt. Something or everything, Hongjoong couldn't tell. Things started to blur together into one big mess of the senses, to the point where Hongjoong couldn't see or hear anything straight.

"Hongjoong," he heard a voice say. "Joong-ah, I'm here."

Hongjoong sniffled. Cried. "Seonghwa."

"I'm here, Joong-ah. Please don't cry."

He cried.

He heard Seonghwa's voice, but he did not feel any arms. He didn't feel Seonghwa's familiar embrace. He did not feel gauze being pressed against his cuts. He did not feel the gentle rush of water washing away his blood. Instead, he felt the throbbing of his pulse in his arms, blood being pumped out of them at a pace he couldn't keep up with.

He breathed.

"Seonghwa, wh-where did you go?" Hongjoong whimpered, his bottom lip quivering again. "I needed you... you said y-you loved me. Why d-did you leave me?"

"Joong-ah, I never left," Seonghwa said. There was a gentle hand on his face. Familiar. "I was always with you."

"B-But—"

"I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner, Joong-ah," Seonghwa said. "I know I should have been here sooner. But I'm here now. And I still love you."

Hongjoong's tears didn't stop. Neither did the bleeding. "I swear, Joong-ah, I will _always_ love you. Whether I'm here or not. You will always have me, I _promise_ you," Seonghwa said, reaching into the bloody water and tenderly taking Hongjoong's weak, numb fingers in his. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry I wasn't here sooner."

"I-It's okay," Hongjoong said.

It wasn't.

"Joong-ah, you're going to be okay," Seonghwa said, the grip on his fingers tightening ever-so-slightly. "You're going to get better. You're going to make it through this. I love you. Don't you ever forget that."

Hongjoong nodded, his eyes slipping shut.

He felt the ghost of a pair of lips linger on his forehead.

He stopped breathing.

-

Seonghwa was always some sort of an angel in Hongjoong's eyes. That was what he told the doctors. The doctors nodded. Told him that Seonghwa was a really good person. Told him that Seonghwa really did care about him.

Jeong Yunho lived on Hongjoong's floor and had heard the man call out Seonghwa's name. Confused and concerned, Yunho had knocked on the door, only to receive no response, and when he'd tried the knob, the apartment was unlocked.

Yunho had found Hongjoong bathing in a tub of his own blood.

Hongjoong didn't remember any of that, though. He remembered waking up to a blinding light that at first he thought was heaven's gate, only to remember that there was no way he would ever to go the place where Seonghwa came from. Seonghwa was good. Hongjoong was not.

It turned out to be a hospital. He was alive. Breathing.

He cried.

Doctors left and right asked him what happened. He said he wasn't entirely sure. He eventually just started bluffing, tired of the questions that were constantly being thrown at him. He told them that he hated himself. That he wanted to die, and that was why he tried to kill himself. But every word felt sour on his tongue. He hated himself.

Right?

He wanted to die.

Right?

That was why he was found bleeding from both arms with wounds deep enough that he would have died had it not been for Jeong Yunho.

_Right?_

Hongjoong couldn't tell what was real anymore. He spent several days in the hospital, where he tried his best to get his head back on his shoulders. Seonghwa never came to his side. Of course he wouldn't. It was a goddamn hospital.

He didn't tell the doctors everything about Seonghwa. He didn't tell the doctors that Seonghwa loved him. He didn't tell he doctors that Seonghwa always came at the worst times and tended to his gaping wounds. He didn't tell the doctors about the last time he saw Seonghwa.

After all, he wasn't even sure if that had been Seonghwa he saw the moment before he stopped breathing.

When Hongjoong met Yunho properly for the first time, he felt strange. Yunho was no heaven-sent angel like Seonghwa. He was completely average. He looked like a normal, everyday human being. But he was the one who'd rescued Hongjoong from death's clutches.

Hongjoong felt a very strange sense of gratitude.

He wanted to die. He should feel angry towards Yunho for making him live.

Then again, Seonghwa always made him live. Why should Yunho be any different?

Hongjoong wasn't angry.

No. He couldn't be angry with someone who made him do what he should be doing in the first place.

Breathing. Living.

For some reason, Yunho apologized for saving him. Hongjoong immediately shook his head, apologizing to _him_ for causing such trouble, and thanked him for saving his life.

He thanked Yunho for saving his life, and as soon as he did, he felt some sort of weight being lifted off of his chest.

He _thanked_ Yunho for saving his life.

He had not wanted to die.

He would not be thanking someone for saving his life if he wanted to die.

Hongjoong told Yunho about Seonghwa. Yunho listened attentively, though his brow was creased in what was either confusion or worry.

"Do you have his number?" Yunho asked him.

"What?"

"Seonghwa's number. Do you have it?"

"N-No?" Hongjoong answered, confused. "I gave him the key to my apartment a long time ago. He just kind of came in whenever he wanted."

"So... he didn't have a cell phone? Do you have a cell phone?"

"Yeah, I do! I just... never had his number," Hongjoong said, his own brows furrowing in confusion.

Yunho didn't ask any further questions, but he didn't have to. Hongjoong felt like he understood what Yunho was trying to insinuate. At the end of the visit, Hongjoong thanked Yunho again.

When Hongjoong returned home with a new prescription and more confusion than ever, he sat down on his sofa and watched the news.

There were sad stories just like usual. Seonghwa wasn't there.

Hongjoong did not cry.

There was no use in crying over someone who wasn't real.

***

"Hyung, can't you slow down? I swear, how can I be taller than you but slower than you?"

Hongjoong laughs, slowing his pace and waiting for Yunho to catch up with him. "Stop taking off like that!" Yunho reprimands just as San catches up with them as well.

"Cut him some slack, Yunho-hyung," San says. "He just likes to explore."

The city is a lot bigger than Hongjoong remembered it to be. He loves the way it lights up at night with a display of all sorts of bright, neon colors. He loves shopping; fashion has become a real hobby of his. He's even been able to make some money off of selling reformed clothes online. He has his own art studio. He makes music sometimes.

The city holds a lot more opportunities than he thought.

San is Yunho's roommate. Hongjoong had learned this as soon as he decided to pay Yunho a visit shortly after his discharge from the hospital. Yunho had told San the whole story. San had pulled Hongjoong into a hug and told him how strong he was and how glad he was that he was alive.

Hongjoong hadn't even known San. San was a stranger, yet he hugged him as tightly as Seonghwa used to.

Seonghwa. Hongjoong hasn't seen Seonghwa in a long, long time. Honestly, Hongjoong has lost track of how long it's been.

It's not like it matters though.

Because Hongjoong can smile on his own now. He has Yunho and San with him. They support his endeavors and ambitions and follow him wherever he goes, even to the bustling city of Seoul, where his dreams finally feel alive.

Where _he_ finally feels alive.

Hongjoong finds simplicity. He likes tea. There's a spot where the three of them like to relax and chat over a pot of tea, specially brewed and made right in front of them. Hongjoong enjoys watching. He enjoys indulging. He enjoys.

It's starts to rain when they enter. The sheer ceiling is enough to let some of the daytime through, providing an atmosphere that at least makes it seem like they're outside. Walking inside feels like a breath of fresh air.

But in all honesty, every breath Hongjoong takes feels like a fresh one, especially after being suffocated for so long.

The waitress already knows their order. She takes off quickly.

Hongjoong glances around.

"Hyung, do you need anything at the store? I know it's raining, but I kinda need something at the market, if you wanna—"

The world seems to tune out.

"Hyung?"

He's staring. He can't help but stare.

"Hyuuuung. Hello?"

After all, there's an angel right in the middle of the restaurant.

Sitting at a table, sipping his tea as he reads a book.

"Hyung!"

Hongjoong feels an elbow collide with his side. He looks to Yunho, who's grinning at him. "What's up with you?" he asks, looking in the direction Hongjoong had been looking. "Ogling at one of the customers, I see."

"He..." Hongjoong's throat closes up.

"He _is_ pretty handsome," San says, his own back turned to view the angel.

"You see him?"

"Um... yes?" Yunho says. "The one reading the book, right?"

There's no way.

_There's no way._

Hongjoong shakes his head. "No. That's not possible."

Yunho and San both frown as they look at Hongjoong, confused. "What do you mean, hyung?" Yunho asks.

The stranger, the angel, glances up. Hongjoong feels like his heart stops.

The stranger smiles at him.

A heaven-sent miracle. That's what Seonghwa was.

What he _is._

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxysangs)


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